Just Another Day
by Connell
Summary: It's just another day for Ryan Atwood...rated "R" for language, mostly.
1. Chapter One

**A.N.**: A heartfelt "thank you" to **crashcmb** for responding to my drowning pleas and offering her beta services.

This story would have been abandoned long ago, if it wasn't for her wonderful assistance. So, it goes without saying that if you hate it, it's all her fault.

In all seriousness, though, if there is any part of this story that is even remotely decent it is because of **crashcmb**. All the sucky parts are mine.

This is a two-parter. Part two will be up later this week. We're at the fine-tuning stage.

**Disclaimer**: Josh Schwartz & Co. owns "The OC" and its characters. I do not. I just won't let them move on to Newport...and you know...happiness.………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….....................................................................................................................................................

**Just Another Day**

**Chapter One**

Ryan listened, with half an ear, to the utter stillness of the house around him. This had always been his favorite time of the day. That almost magical moment between sleep and consciousness. When he had exactly two choices. To submit to the irresistible pull to drift back into the safety of nothingness, or to fight his way awake and start his day. He was pretty sure the alarm hadn't gone off yet, the radio set to some crap-assed heavy metal 80's station that his brother liked, if only for the desired effect it had for pissing off their parents. But, the clock rested on the little table next to Trey's side of the bed, and Ryan could never be entirely sure that his brother hadn't already slammed the snooze button half-a-dozen times, or turned the clock off completely.

Even better was the sudden, and welcome, realization that there was no school. A whole day that lay ahead. Empty time--time that could be filled on his bike with Lawrence and Hank, exploring neighborhoods beyond the Jack in the Box on Kings Canyon, where his dad had set the invisible line that Trey and he weren't allowed to cross. The line that had been ceremoniously smashed within the first week in which it had been drawn. First by Trey, then by Ryan, as the boys had slowly, but deliberately, expanded their respective worlds, stretching their invisible tethers farther and farther from the block of small ranch homes on the quiet street with the tiny plots of mottled grass and chain link fencing that surrounded them.

His parents were late sleepers. Especially on weekend and holidays. But, even so, the boys would sometimes hear noises from the room next door. Calm, but earnest talking--an exchange of hushed, angry words--or on the rarest of occasions--quiet laughter. Laughter that was broken off with a giggled "shush"--the sound of a playful slap of skin on skin--the squeak of the bed--or a soft, but audible mention of the boys, collectively or by name.

At times like those, Trey could be counted on to make the universal gagging sign. The boys would slip out of bed, quickly pull on whatever clothing was most convenient, and escape silently out their window--leaving their parents to the elusive privacy that the tiny house so rarely afforded and knowing that they would be forgiven for a few hours of unaccounted for time as they took off on their bikes for parts of Fresno as yet unexplored.

Even as he debated stirring or surrendering back to sleep, the silence was broken. Ryan could hear the sound of voices--neither hushed nor murmured. Raised and careless chatter. The clatter of cupboard doors opening and slamming shut. Cups clanging onto the kitchen countertops. A male voice.

"You remember to bring any coffee home or do we have to drink this instant crap again?"

"Oh, shit. I totally forgot. I'll go out and get some."

"Yeah right. Like you're gonna find someplace open. Jesus fucking Christ. I ask you to do one thing. One fucking thing--and you can't even get that right."

"There'll be someplace open. It's no big deal. I'll run out and get something."

Ryan forced open an eye and confirmed that Trey wasn't lying next to him. There were no rumpled sheets or even a pillow on the other side of the bed. No evidence that his brother had risen before him. In fact, there was no evidence that his brother had ever occupied the room, beside a few mementos left over from Trey's brief flirtation with skateboarding. Like everything Trey did, the fascination hadn't lasted long. The skateboard was quickly abandoned for jacking cars and boosting their parts, but the Baker and the Blockhead stickers still adorned the wall under the window on what had been Trey's side of the room--a couple of skateboards still hung on the wall near the doorway. Both, subtle reminders of slightly more innocent times.

With a groan, Ryan realized he wasn't eight anymore. He wasn't even close. He was fifteen and Trey had been out of the house for months now. Ryan threw his feet over the side of the bed, sat up and shook his head a couple of times, trying to force the cobwebs from his brain and to will himself awake.

Shit! How the hell had he managed to regress seven years in the span of nine hours?

He quickly considered and rejected an escape out the window, the way Trey and he used to do back in Fresno. It would solve the short-term problem of having to gauge his mother's mood. And of having to deal with AJ. But, his bike was in its customary place, lying on the ground between the tree and front of the house. It was in plain view of the kitchen and the dining room, so odds were that he'd be spotted as he took off. There'd be no way to fake like he'd gotten an early start--that he'd been up and out of the house before his mother and AJ had risen.

And, as much as he wouldn't mind putting off dealing with either adult in the house, he'd learned the hard way that it was just easier to get it over with. Ryan grabbed a change of clothes and a towel and shuffled the short distance from his room to the bathroom. He made a beeline to the bathroom door and his mother and AJ ignored him, if they saw him at all. Once he was showered and changed, he made his way to the kitchen.

"You leave your clothes and that wet towel on the bathroom floor again?"

"No, Mom." He leaned over and let his mother give him a quick buss on the cheek.

"Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem."

"What're you up to, today?"

"I dunno." He gave an evasive shrug. He still hadn't looked at AJ and was hoping to get out of the house without a confrontation. "I thought I'd take my bike out for a while if it's okay."

"AJ?"

Ryan tried to keep his face impassive, even as he cringed internally. What he did was none of AJ's goddamned business and the fact that his mother was even asking for his permission grated on his every nerve.

"Like I give a fuck."

"Like I care."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Ryan hadn't even been aware that he'd spoken the words out loud. He was close enough to the front door that he just exited with a quickly muttered, "Nothin'," and a half-wave over his shoulder. He jumped on his bike and took off, ignoring the angry words that followed.

As he jumped the curb and pedaled furiously down the street, he silently cussed himself out. What the fuck was his problem? He'd been out of there. Out of the house with no damage done until he'd opened his stupid mouth. It made no sense. None. Ryan was a quiet kid. Too quiet, most would say. Hell, he'd even agree. Words weren't really his thing. He rarely opened his mouth. To the point that it aggravated more than a few people. His mother. Theresa. His guidance counselor. Too many teachers to name.

And yet--and yet--at the times that he _should_ just know better. The times that he _should _be quiet. The times when to open his mouth meant risking something--whether it be detention, an aggressive confrontation, or even a beating at the hands of a man three times his size--those were the times when he would open his mouth and say the stuff that he normally kept bottled up inside. For some inexplicable reason, those were the times he just couldn't keep himself from speaking.

More and more, AJ'd been having that effect on him. He'd been getting under Ryan's skin and Ryan'd been mouthing back--despite the obvious and automatic consequences.

As he continued pedaling, he swore that he'd try to do a better job at monitoring his backtalk. But, even as he made the promise to himself, he knew he wouldn't keep it. There was just something about AJ that kicked his sense of self-preservation to the back-burner. It might have something to do with his mother and the fact that so many of his clashes with her boyfriend started over AJ's treatment of her. Or the fact that AJ'd been a presence in the house for months now--or that there was no sense that he was leaving anytime soon.

AJ had completely taken over their house. His big white pickup always seemed to be parked in the carport. His body occupying the overstuffed chair in front of the television. And there were the rough looking guys who stopped by the house at all hours of the day and night. Some who were looking to buy coke. Some who were looking to sell it. And others--others who were just there to use.

Ryan'd even come home to the house full of strangers more than a few times. His mother and AJ nowhere in sight, a party in full swing, unknown couples pairing off and disappearing into his mother's room. Himself, scared shitless and unsure of what to do, besides locking himself in his bedroom and waiting for his mother's return. On those rare occasions, he'd smoked cigarette after cigarette, staring out his open window, ignoring the intermittent attempts at his doorknob and keeping an eye on those leaving, wondering what--if anything--he would do if he saw anyone attempt to boost the Atwoods' meager possessions.

He'd been lucky that he'd never been forced to make that decision, since calling the cops wasn't really an option. Not with his mother's name on the lease and the amount of drugs and weapons he knew to be secreted around the house.

It angered Ryan that the little house in Chino in which he had grown up was no longer his. It was no longer the Atwood home. It no longer belonged to his mother--to him--to Trey. It was AJ's house now. It was AJ's house, even though AJ had done nothing tangible to make it that way. AJ didn't pay the bills or fill the refrigerator or even fix the fucking pipe that was busted under the vanity in the bathroom. In fact, there was no reason why the house should feel like it belonged to AJ--except he had become an all-encompassing force that dominated the home.

Actually, the more Ryan thought about it, the more he equated AJ to a black-hole, sucking all of the energy out of the house. Ryan couldn't remember a time that his home had been filled with more tension, less humor, less of a sense of--of "family"--for lack of a better word.

Sure, life in the Atwood home had never been easy. Especially after his dad had been arrested and his mother had moved them from Fresno.

But, before AJ, at least there were cycles. His mother would go through her bouts of sobriety and her struggles with the bottle. Jobs were lost and found again. Times were sometimes tough and sometimes surprisingly easy. Boyfriends were lousy or pretty okay. But, everything went in a cycle. As lousy as the present might seem, if he held on persistently enough, an upswing was bound to come. His mother would sober up. She'd manage to keep a job for more than a few months. The bills would be paid on time. The refrigerator would contain at least the essentials. She'd date someone who didn't totally suck.

But, after his mother met AJ, it was like someone jammed a stick between the spokes on the front wheel of the bike that was Ryan's life. He'd been ejected from the seat and he'd landed in a mess of brambles--the bike lying next to him in a pile of ruin. The wheel that he had always counted on to keep turning had become a jumbled and broken mess that he just couldn't reattach--no matter how hard he worked at fixing it. His mother couldn't keep a job for more than a few weeks at a time. She hadn't been sober a full day since the day the motherfucker moved in. The phone had been cut off months ago. The electricity had been reconnected twice.

The once familiar cycle that Ryan had so steadfastly relied upon had been replaced with another circular motion--a funnel. Ryan could feel his life spin out of control--the rotations getting tighter and tighter--closing in on himself--as he--and his mother--were getting sucked closer and closer to the drain that would eventually pull them in and suffocate them forever. AJ'd been there longer than any boyfriend Ryan could recollect, and he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving.

Trey'd preceded them into the abyss years before. His brother had been busted twice as a minor for possession and already once, as an adult, for simple assault. He'd dropped out of high school in the 11th grade--he'd left the house shortly after AJ moved in, and had spent his time since crashing with friends. Hopping from apartment to apartment and supporting himself selling weed and jacking cars. It was only a matter of time before Trey collected a felony bust and was rewarded with state time. Not that Ryan could blame Trey's descent on AJ. Trey'd been a lost cause long before AJ'd entered the picture.

Without even knowing he'd been traveling in that direction, Ryan found himself outside his brother's apartment. He debated a few minutes whether to go inside. It was still early and, knowing his brother, Trey was probably asleep. But, when Ryan'd left his house, he hadn't had time to grab a jacket, so he wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather. He had on only a short-sleeved black cotton t-shirt covering a longer sleeved gray one, and it was the chilly air that bit through both layers of clothing that made the final decision for him. He ditched his bike inside the apartment building's front entrance and climbed the four flights to his brother's door.

"Hey, man. What're you doing here?"

Trey looked like shit. He was dressed in boxers, with a grungy looking comforter pulled tightly around him. His eyes were bloodshot and at half-mast, he reeked of booze and his hair was clumped into unruly tufts that stuck out in several different directions. He moved back from the entryway, leaving the door open for his brother to pass inside.

Ryan moved into the apartment and surveyed the damage from the night before. There were open pizza boxes, empty bottles of beer and some harder stuff lying haphazardly around. There was a bong in plain sight on the steamer trunk that served as a coffee table. Trey shuffled back to the couch and sat down, folding a flattened pillow in half and moving it behind him. It was obvious he'd spent the night there. Ryan grabbed a chair, pulled it over and sat on it backwards, facing his brother.

"I--uh--kind of lost my room last night."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, well, at least somebody got laid. So, where were you, little brother? I thought you were going to stop by. It was--uh--it got pretty crazy."

"Looks like," Ryan shrugged. "I dunno. Things are just so messed up at home right now. I just wasn't really up to it."

"What'd that fucker do, now?" Trey was halfway to his feet before Ryan could open his mouth to placate him.

"Nothing, Trey. It's nothing. I mean, nothing more than the usual bullshit. I was going to come--but you know AJ--it's like he's always between you and the door. I just didn't feel up to getting into anything with him. It seemed easier to stay in my room, watch TV--call it a night."

"Like you gotta explain yourself to that motherfucker?"

"I dunno," Ryan lifted a shoulder. "It's kinda like I do. I mean, it's pretty fucked up, Trey. Every time I tell Mom I'm going somewhere or doing something, she'll actually run it by him. It's like I can't leave the house until she gets his okay."

"So--what? You think she's gonna marry this motherfucker?"

"I dunno. I don't think so. I mean--she can't. At least not yet. He's still married. He's gotta wife--a couple of kids. Not that he ever sees them--"

"You ever think about Mom and Dad? You know--if they'd still be married, he didn't knock off that convenience store?"

Ryan raised an uncomfortable shoulder, surprised by his brother's question. It wasn't like Trey to bring up the past. The brothers rarely spoke of their father--or of the time before his arrest.

"I dunno--I mean--no, not really. What's the point? He did, they're not, who cares?"

"Seriously, man? You never wonder what woulda' happened if he didn't get sent up?"

"No."

"No, shit?"

"Jesus, Trey, in how many ways do I gotta say it?"

"I dunno," Trey shrugged. "Just seems weird to me, you don't ever think about shit like that."

"Shit like what?"

"Stupid shit, man. Shit like whether Mom'd be so fucked up if Dad was still around…or if Dad would still even _be_ around if he didn't screw up that robbery. Whether we'd of been better off staying in Fresno. Or if none of it woulda' made a shit's bit of difference."

"Jesus, Trey, what the fuck were you smoking last night?"

"Nothing, man," Trey let out an exasperated sigh. "I just can't believe that you don't think about shit like this--like ever."

"Yeah, well, believe it, man. I don't. And it's a fucking waste of your time--thinking about shit like that, too."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, what can you do about any of it, anyway? Dad isn't around. Mom's a fucking train wreck. AJ isn't exactly going anywhere anytime soon. Things are the way they are, Trey. You can't change the past. You've just gotta fucking deal with the here and now."

"Yeah right--the here and now." Trey muttered as he looked around the room. He slowly rose from the couch. He dropped the comforter behind him as he pulled on his jeans, which had been lying on the floor between the couch and the trunk. Ryan waited as his brother disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he came back with a glass of water and a trash bag. He guzzled the water and put the glass on top of the television, before beginning to shove bottles and boxes into the bag. Ryan joined him and the room looked marginally better a few minutes later.

"What're you gonna do with that?" Ryan gestured to the bong.

Trey opened the trunk and threw it in. "There's no sense in hiding it in the floorboards or anything, cops bust this place, that's the least of what they'll find." His laugh was humorless.

"Great way to live." Ryan plopped down on the couch, away from the pillow and the grungy comforter.

"Coming from a guy living with Mom and that motherfucker?"

"I'm fifteen, Trey, it's not like I have a choice."

Trey raised an eyebrow, but didn't contradict his brother. Instead, he walked over to his bedroom door and started pounding on it. "Hey, man, I gotta take a piss. Consider this your notice. I'm evicting both of your motherfucking naked asses as of two minutes from now. Get dressed and get the fuck out."

Trey leaned over his brother and grabbed the comforter. He folded it neatly and lay it in the trunk, on top of the bong, before taking a seat next to Ryan. "I tried to go see him, you know."

"See who?"

"Dad, you dumbshit."

"Why?"

"I dunno." It was Trey's turn to raise a shoulder. He had his hands folded together and was staring down at them. He didn't look up at his brother when he started speaking again. "It's weird, but I think I'm beginning to forget what the bastard looks like. It's been--what? Four years--five years--something like that, right?" Trey continued when Ryan didn't answer. "I just--I dunno. Do you have any fucking idea how tall the guy is, even? Cause I'm having a really hard time picturing the asshole."

"He's tall, Trey. Like you are."

"You sure? Or is it just because that's the way you remember him? Cause you were like…what…ten the last time you saw him?"

"I'm sure. There're still some pictures of him around. Mom has them pretty well hidden. But, they're there. When he's with Mom, he dwarfs her--you know, like you do."

"How about his eyes, man. Do you even remember what color his eyes are?"

"Blue?" Ryan hadn't meant it to sound like a question.

"No man--they're green. You see, that, I remember. He always wanted you to look him in the eye when you fucked up. I dunno--to see if you were lying or something. And you know me, little brother, always with the fucking up. So, the eyes--his eyes--I ain't ever gonna forget his eyes. It's the rest of the asshole's face that I can't picture most of the time."

"Jesus, Trey, no shitting? You went to Corcoran?"

"Naw, man, I never got that far. I did get all the paperwork, though--you know--like you did for us when we were kids."

"And all because you can't picture his face anymore?"

"No--or--or--maybe. I dunno. Shit, some days it's like I don't know nothing anymore, little brother. Nothing, but how everything's so fucking messed up right now. I mean, you're getting the crap beat out of you all the time by Mom's fuckwad of a boyfriend--I'm living in this shithole--selling weed to 13-year-olds, for christsake--ice to crackwhores who'll send their 5-year-olds to make the exchange. I dunno. I guess, maybe, I was just looking for some answers."

"Answers to what, Trey? Life wasn't exactly a fucking picnic before Dad got sent up. You know that. You know that better than anyone."

"I know, Ryan. Jesus, I'm not a fucking moron, man. It was bad--I know it was. But, it wasn't this bad. It wasn't Mom on the hard stuff--or you--you getting your ass kicked all the fucking time. It wasn't me--it wasn't me living like fucking _this_, man."

Trey took a deep breath--expelled. "Ah, fuck it. Who knows? Who cares? None of it matters, anyway."

"What happened?"

"I got denied. Can you believe it? I got rubber-stamped fucking denied. They wouldn't let me see him because I got a record."

The silence between the brothers stretched for a few uncomfortable seconds, as Ryan wracked his brain for something to say. He was absolutely dumbstruck with Trey's revelation. Especially, since the most dominant memories he had of the Atwood family's time in Fresno had been the almost daily battle of wills between Trey and their father.

He couldn't remember the last time Trey had referred to their father as anything but the "asshole" or the "bastard" and, the one time the entire Atwood clan had spent a visiting day at Corcoran, Trey had done nothing but sit, surly and silent, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and a pissed off expression permanently affixed to his face, resisting any and all attempts their father had made at conversation.

Ryan was relieved of having to come up with a response when Eddie chose that moment to come out of Trey's bedroom. Kimberly Morrison was close on his heels. She looked surprised and embarrassed to see Ryan, but gave him a little wave of recognition. She was in a couple of his classes at school.

"Hey, Ryan, what're you doing here?"

"C'mon, Kim, you know Trey and Ryan are brothers."

"Yeah, right." She said the words, but Ryan could tell that she hadn't known that Trey and he were related by the uncertainty of her tone and the way she glanced from Trey to him and back to his brother again, a quizzical expression on her face.

"Shit, I'd better get out of here. My stepdad's really gonna kill me this time." Kim stole a quick glance at her watch and raised up on her tiptoes to give Eddie a peck on the cheek.

"Call me?"

"Yeah--uh--sure. You--you need a ride or anything?"

"No way. My stepdad's probably got the gun out by now, sitting on the porch, boots up on the railing, barrel aimed down the sidewalk, just waiting to use it." Kim's giggle sounded forced as she beat a hasty exit out the door.

Ryan waited until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore before speaking, "I thought you were dating Theresa."

"I am."

"Kimberly know that?"

"C'mon, man, don't say anything to her--to Theresa--okay? We're actually getting along pretty good right now."

"Looks like." Ryan pulled the corners of his mouth down and gave Eddie a sidelong look, without turning in his chair.

"I'm serious, man, you know Theresa, she'll run me up a flagpole by my nuts, she finds out I fucked around on her."

"Whatever--Eddie, it's none of my business."

"Seriously, man?"

"Dude, it's a non-issue. It's not like she's even talking to me right now, anyway."

"You two ain't getting along?"

"Not so much--uh--no."

"I call your bullshit."

"It's not bullshit, Eddie. Ask her about me--the words she'll use--let's just say they're not gonna be the kind you'll want your gram to hear."

"So, if she thinks you're such a fuckweed, why's she got your picture plastered all over her refrigerator?"

"Oh, c'mon, Eddie, her mom put that up. I don't think she's ever gonna let me live that stupid Snoopy thing down. It's from like the 8th grade."

"Snoopy--the _what_?" Eddie seemed genuinely confused.

"Nothing. What picture are you talking about?"

"The picture of you guys at the winter dance. It's up on her refrigerator. Like you're the fucking king and queen of the prom. What the fuck is the 'Snoopy thing?' "

"Nothing."

Trey's mouth was half-open, but he closed it quickly, after seeing his brother's sharp look.

Eddie looked from Trey to Ryan. Seemed to be contemplating something. Finally offered, "Say nothing to Theresa about Kimberly and I won't ask any more questions about Snoopy."

"Yeah, sure--done." Ryan quickly accepted Eddie's offer.

Trey opened his arms, palms up. "This is between the two of you and Theresa. I'm out of it. Except if 'Turo finds out I let you use my room. That happens and I'll fucking kill you, Eddie."

"You won't need to. Arturo'll take care of killing Eddie right after he kills you," Ryan offered.

"I ain't kidding." Trey ignored his brother's comment.

"Dude, I get it." Eddie sounded sincere. Which was really no surprise, considering Arturo was not one to mess with, especially if he found out that Eddie was fucking around on his little sister. "Anyway, guys, it's been real. Thanks for letting me crash in your room, Trey." Eddie offered his fist to Trey, then to Ryan, "I told my grams I'd be home before noon, so I'd better get going."

As he opened the door, Eddie looked back into the room, "Hey, Ryan, I know I said I wouldn't ask about it, but I am so totally going to find that picture the next time I'm at Theresa's."

Ryan picked up the closest cushion from the couch and chucked it at Eddie. It hit the door as it was closing and he was left with nothing but the sound of Eddie's laughter and his rapidly receding footsteps as they raced down the stairs.

"You mind if I clean up--take a shower?" Trey asked.

"No, man. Please."

"Paulo's still here--in his room--at least I think he is--shit--I don't even know anymore--he may have left while I was still asleep."

"No problem." Ryan grabbed for the remote control and flipped on the television. It was tuned to ESPN and he left it there. Trey disappeared into his room. Ryan briefly considered, and then rejected, spending his time better by cleaning up the living room. But, it wasn't his apartment, he hadn't even attended the party, and he knew that most of the mess wasn't even Trey's.

From fourteen years of sharing a room with his brother, he knew Trey's own personal space would be as neat as an army barracks. The fact that the common area usually resembled a pigpen had more to do with his brother's unfortunate selection of roommates than his own general slovenliness. Atwoods were clean creatures by nature. Their father had painfully instilled that particular trait in them at an early age and it had carried over. Even the present Atwood home was kept surprisingly clean, despite AJ, his friends and the partying that occurred on a weekly basis. If there was a mess left over in the morning that Dawn didn't get to, Ryan did. The Atwood residence in no way resembled the lifestyle of its occupants.

After a few minutes, Trey came out, hair slicked down, fully dressed and carrying an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He held it up briefly for his brother's inspection, before twisting off the cap, taking a swig and attempting to pass it along. Ryan shook his head and Trey took another long pull at the bottle.

"Eddie must have left this in there. His fucking loss. It'll just about make up for kicking me out of my room last night and the cost for washing those nasty-assed sheets."

"Isn't it a little early to start drinking?"

"You know what Mom says--it's always happy hour somewhere."

"Yeah, well, it's not even noon here."

"You on my case now, too, man?"

"Naw, Trey. Listen, I'm just beat. I'm gonna jet. Go home. See what's going on with Mom and AJ." Ryan got up and started to head for the door.

"Yeah, okay. You bring a jacket or anything? It's cold as a titches' wit in here, it must be fucking freezing out there."

"I was in kind of a hurry--when I took off, I mean."

"What, because of that motherfucker?"

"Isn't it always?"

"You okay, man? I mean--going back there? You need me to go along with you?"

"No--no--no--honestly, Trey, I'm fine. Seriously--I said something stupid as I was leaving that I probably shouldn't have. It's no big deal--but, it's probably just better if I go home now--apologize or whatever the fucker wants me to do. I wait much longer and the two of them will be wasted and the whole thing may be blown out of proportion."

"Hey, wait a sec." Trey disappeared back into his bedroom. He returned in a couple of seconds with a black imitation leather jacket, a gray hoodie sweatshirt attached to the inside.

"I'm okay. I'm just riding home," Ryan insisted. "It's what--all of five miles--maybe?"

"It's no biggie, man. I've got another coat."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, man." Ryan took the jacket and put it on. It was loose, but warm. And, as much as he wasn't going to admit it to his brother, he had been dreading the ride home with the wind ripping through the thin cotton of his shirts.

"Hey," Trey called out, just as Ryan opened the apartment door. He stopped and looked back at his brother. "It's probably a good thing they denied me--the prison, I mean. If I'd gone to see Dad, I'd probably have gone for the asshole's throat, just thinking about how badly he fucked things up for you and Mom."

Ryan thought carefully before responding, "Yeah, but Dad didn't bring AJ or any of those other guys into the house, Trey. Mom's made her own shitty decisions--decisions that have nothing to do with Dad. She can't keep blaming him. At some point, she's gotta take responsibility for her own life--her own choices."

He waited with his hand on the door, looking at his brother. Trey took another swig from the bottle--held it against the side of his body--looked agitated as he tapped it a few times against his leg. After a few seconds, Ryan finally broke the silence.

"Hey--so--I'm gonna jet."

"Yeah," his brother said, quietly. "Uh, here, take this." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bunch of bills--held out a twenty.

"Naw, Trey, I can't."

"C'mon, Ryan…I know you got nothing. Just let me do this." Ryan was torn. He knew where the money'd come from, but he also didn't want to disappoint his brother. After a long pause, he finally reached out and accepted the gift.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem."

Ryan offered his right hand, and Trey reciprocated, pulling him into a half-hug, half-embrace. Ryan gave Trey a quick pat on the back, before he pulled away, turned and started to shut the door behind him

"Hey--Ryan?"

Ryan turned again, remained standing halfway out of the apartment. "Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas, man."

He met Trey's eyes, blinked and replied, "You, too, Trey. Take care, man."

Slowly, he turned once more and closed the door. Pausing, he took a deep breath, ran a quick hand through his hair, and began the descent to the entrance of the building.

Ryan grabbed his bike from where he'd dropped it at the bottom of the steps. He took his time on the ride from Trey's apartment to his own home. When he finally pulled up to his house, he was disappointed to see that the front blinds were drawn.

He hesitated a minute outside the door, his ears straining to hear something--anything--coming from inside, but there was nothing. No laughter, no angry words, nothing to tip him off as to the demeanor of its occupants. There wasn't much he could do, but take a deep breath, open the door, walk through it and take his chances.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Note**: Thanks again to super-beta crashcmb for her suggestions, comments, corrections and the basic cleaning up and making sense out of the jumbled mess that I passed along. And for making the process fun, too!

**Disclaimer**: See **Chapter One**. Nothing's changed in two days.

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**Just Another Day**

**Chapter Two**

Dawn and AJ were standing on opposite sides of the cabinets that separated the kitchen from the dining room, an open bottle of Double Eagle and a couple of glasses set out between them. They appeared to be mid-conversation, leaning toward each other, elbows on the counter, but both fell silent and their eyes turned simultaneously in his direction when Ryan entered the house.

"Hey," he finally offered, when it became obvious that the conversation wasn't going to spontaneously continue.

"You're back late," his mother noted.

He stole a quick glance at the clock on the dining room wall. It was a little after one o'clock.

"Yeah, I--uh--I heard you talking about coffee, earlier. I stopped for some." As he offered the handles of the plastic bag to his mother, AJ moved his body sideways, letting Ryan approach the counter.

"Aw, that's sweet. Thank you, honey. Isn't that sweet, AJ?" Dawn took the bag from Ryan and dumped the small, vacuum-packed container into her hand.

"Like cotton fucking candy." AJ muttered.

Ryan backed slowly away from the counter, and from AJ.

"I--uh--I'm just going to go to my room for a while." He backed up a couple more steps, but hadn't gotten very far--just about as far as the leather chair that AJ normally occupied--before AJ started in on him.

"So--what--it take you three hours to buy coffee?" Ryan stopped and ducked his head, but didn't answer. After the silence stretched for a few seconds, he finally shrugged his response. He reached out and absent-mindedly picked up the large leather flap that had come loose from the back of the chair--smoothed it to where it had once been attached to the left side--watched as it fell back to its original position. He listened to the sounds of whatever college bowl game was on and waited for AJ and his mother to resume their conversation, or for some other sign that he would be ignored and could continue to his room. It didn't come.

"So, here's how it works, _Ryan_--I ask you a question and you answer the fucking question. Got it?" AJ had a way of stretching the syllables and spitting out Ryan's name like it was a dirty word.

"C'mon, AJ, not today," Dawn pleaded from inside the kitchen.

"Hey, I'm not the one who started this. If your kid can mouth off to me all the fucking time, he can answer a simple fucking question."

Ryan stole a glance, and was surprised to see that AJ was still focused on him. Their eyes locked and he froze for a few seconds before he finally offered a response.

"I dunno. Just riding around, I guess."

"So, that's it? That's all you did? Just rode around?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah."

"You didn't stop anywhere?"

"Not really."

Ryan backed up a couple of quick paces when AJ made a sudden move toward him. In doing so, he banged his head on the planter that was suspended from the ceiling, hanging in front of the window that overlooked the front yard.

"What--you nervous, there, hotshot?"

As Ryan shrugged and tried his best to appear nonchalant, AJ reached out and cuffed him on the left side of his head with the heel of his right hand.

"AJ!"

"Yeah--well--you oughtta be fucking nervous." AJ continued to focus completely on Ryan, ignoring the plea contained in Dawn's plaintive voice. "Where the fuck were you?"

Ryan caught himself before he automatically lifted his shoulders in response. "I dunno. I rode around for a while. I went to that Korean grocery on Allegheny. I rode around some more. I came home."

AJ cuffed him again. Although it probably wasn't any harder than the first time, it felt that way to Ryan, since it was the second blow to the same ear. His left ear stung, but he willed himself not to reach up and touch it--he wouldn't give the prick the satisfaction.

"Turn rabbit ears, you little bitch."

Ryan reached into his jeans and turned the pockets inside out. He opened his hands, revealing some lint and the sixteen dollars and change that he'd pulled from his right pocket.

AJ took it from him.

"Where'd you get the money, hotshot?"

"I went to see my brother--all right? I don't see what the big fucking deal is." Ryan did nothing to keep the anger or the frustration from his voice.

"You don't see what the big fucking deal is?" AJ lifted his hand again, and let out a short laugh when Ryan couldn't help but flinch away from him. He then slowly and deliberately reached over Ryan's head and steadied the plant, which was still swinging wildly, although in increasingly smaller arcs.

"You fucking lie to me one more time and we'll see what fucking happens."

Ryan fought the urge to argue that where he went and what he did was none of AJ's business. Instead, he just swallowed hard and nodded. When AJ's face registered his disapproval, he quickly added a verbal answer, his tone noticeably resigned.

"Yeah--I got it."

Ryan ducked his head down low again. If he could just avoid AJ's eyes--avoid having AJ see the hatred that he knew was there--then--just maybe then--he could get out of this confrontation without any more damage done.

"C'mon, AJ. This is supposed to be a nice day. Here, why don't you take this and let Ryan go to his room. Let's all settle down for a while--just this one day--for just this one day, I'd like my two guys to get along."

Dawn was holding out a rock glass that contained a few ice cubes swimming in some amber liquid. Ryan stood, motionless, waiting for AJ to decide what to do.

"Get the fuck outta my face," he finally spat, sending Ryan scurrying toward his bedroom.

"Hey, dumbfuck." Ryan stopped short, just in front of the bathroom, secure in the knowledge that he could easily reach the safety of his bedroom before AJ could cover the distance. "Next time you decide to lie about where you've been--don't come home wearing somebody else's fucking jacket."

Ryan crossed the final couple of feet to his room. Once inside, he threw the deadbolt and started pacing across the narrow space between his bed and his bureau, his breathing rapid and heavy. He was pissed off. Angry at AJ--his mom. Hell, he was angry with himself. He took off the jacket and threw it on his bed. How could he be so stupid, not to remember that he'd come home in Trey's jacket?

And why the hell didn't he just tell AJ where he'd been to begin with?

So, AJ and Trey didn't get along--which was maybe the understatement of the year--but, Trey was still his brother and there was no reason why he shouldn't be allowed to spend time with him. Especially today. His whole stupid fucked-up tactic had been to avoid getting into an altercation with AJ by omitting any mention of his brother's name--and all he'd managed to do with that brilliant maneuver was to escalate the situation.

Ryan pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser, reached into the back corner and extracted the pack of Marlboros and the ashtray he kept there. He cracked open his window, set the ashtray on the sill and removed the matchbook from the plastic that surrounded the pack. He noticed with frustration that his hands were shaking--it took him three matches to light the cigarette. But, like always, after a couple of deep drags, he could feel the nicotine overtake him and his whole body begin to relax.

For a few minutes he just sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered, staring at the carpet between his feet and trying not to think about much of anything. He didn't want to think about his mother, AJ, Trey or his dad.

_Merry fucking Christmas_.

But, even as he was trying to chase the thoughts out of his head, he couldn't help but wonder what his dad was doing that very minute. Was he sitting on his bed, smoking a cigarette, living in fear of the unknown that was lying just beyond his locked cell? Did he live his life in a constant state of unwavering vigilance? Was he never able to let down his guard? Was he continuously aware of the capricious and volatile nature of his environment and of those who controlled it?

Or, did he have freedoms that were even greater than those of his younger son?

Did he even think of Ryan, or Trey at all? Would he be disappointed in what Trey had become? Would he be disappointed in Ryan?

The sounds of raised voices in the other room penetrated the walls of his bedroom, and his thoughts. He flipped on the television--briefly noted that Tulane was playing Hawaii in some insignificant bowl game on ESPN--didn't care. He flipped the stations and found a basketball game. He turned the volume up high enough to drown out his mother and her boyfriend, lay down on the bed, stared at the ceiling and continued to smoke.

The whole visit to Trey's had left a bad taste in his mouth. Worse than usual. Not that he ever expected much from his brother. He was even more of a fucking train wreck than their mother was. But, maybe that was just it. Because today--with the talk of going to Corcoran--the talk of seeing their father--even the little bit of remorse that Trey had expressed about selling weed to kids and crack to their mothers, it wasn't like his brother. And that disturbed Ryan in a way that he couldn't even begin to explain to himself.

It was almost like he'd caught a glimmer of something still living in Trey that he thought had died out long ago. Hope--self-awareness--regret--hell, _something_. There was something still there--some semblance of his brother left in that fucked-up, crazy-assed thug who'd been masquerading as Trey for years now--and that did nothing to lighten Ryan's mood.

He put out the cigarette and tapped the ashtray against the outside wall of the house to get rid of the butts and the ash. He returned the ashtray and the cigarettes to the back of his drawer, grabbed his knapsack and pulled out a book. Mr. van Pelt had given it to him a few days ago and he'd completely forgotten about it until just now. He'd been almost asleep in van Pelt's English class and was sure that he was going to get bawled out when his teacher had called him over, just short of the door. But, instead of the anticipated lecture, van Pelt had handed Ryan a book. A hardback. He'd told him that he'd seen Ryan reading books, from time to time, that were not part of the assigned syllabus--that he thought Ryan might enjoy the book over the holiday break--told him to return it to him--whenever. Ryan'd shoved the book into his backpack with a murmured thanks and hadn't thought of it again. Until now.

He looked at the cover--"The Corrections"--and read the book's front flap. He propped himself up on his bed, opened it to page one and began reading.

It was hours later when Ryan jumped in response to the tentative knock on the door. He'd been deep into the book and wasn't even aware that time had passed at an astonishing rate.

"Ryan."

"Yeah, Mom."

"Dinner's ready, hon."

"Okay, I'll be there in a sec."

He stood up and reached over to the television. It was still tuned to basketball, but two other teams were playing--the Lakers and the Kings. When he turned it off, he noticed that AJ must be watching the same thing in the other room, because he could still hear the faint sounds of the game. He unbolted the door and went straight to the bathroom.

As he washed his hands and his face, he looked at himself in the mirror and tried to brace himself for the night ahead. He knew that his mother and AJ had been drinking non-stop since he'd come back from Trey's. He also had no idea how much they'd had to drink while he'd been out. But, he swore to himself that he'd do his best to be conciliatory. He'd eat dinner, stay quiet and get the hell back into his room as quickly as possible.

As he left the bathroom, he could see that AJ was sitting in the leather chair, a nearly empty drink on the glass-topped table beside him. His feet were up and he was watching the game, the volume turned high. Ryan quickly passed between AJ and the television and walked the short distance to the dining room. AJ ignored him.

Dawn was holding a match, lighting the second of two candles that were on the table. There were two place settings on the far side of the table and there was an opened bottle of beer in front of the setting that was on the side closest to the living room. Platters of food were already on the table.

"It looks really good, Mom."

"Thanks, kiddo." Dawn offered what Ryan couldn't help but think was a boozy smile.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Nope. Just have a seat. What do you want to drink?"

"Milk's fine."

His mother went back into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door.

"Oh, I think we're all out of milk, honey. You can have a beer if you want. It's a special occasion."

"No, thanks, Mom. Water's okay."

Ryan took the seat on the far side of the table that wasn't across from AJ's beer. Dawn came back with his glass of water. On the way, she tripped slightly and spilled a little on the floor.

"Oops, sorry, honey, I'm just so clumsy today."

Ryan took the glass she handed to him and set it on the table without comment.

"AJ, you gonna come eat?" Dawn stood by her seat and waited until AJ finally extracted himself from the chair. He left the television on as he crossed the small space to the table.

"Can't we turn that thing off--you know--just while we eat?" Dawn asked. "I'd like to have a nice dinner for once."

Instead of answering her, AJ just hooked his thumb in Ryan's direction.

"Move it, hotshot. I'd like to see the game." Ryan quickly rose and leaned over the table, switching his water glass with the beer that had marked AJ's spot. As he walked around the table, AJ gave him a little shove and Ryan stumbled into the side of his chair. The impact of the chair against the table caused some gravy to splash from its bowl and onto the otherwise pristine, white tablecloth.

"Sorry, Mom." Ryan's apology was automatic as he took his new seat.

"That's okay, honey." Dawn's goofy grin was still plastered to her face.

Platters were passed around, food was heaped onto plates and dinner was started in silence, broken only by the sound of the basketball game and AJ's intermittent comments of "Shit!" "Shoot the damn ball!" and "Why don't you take a fucking bus the next time you're gonna travel that far?"

"So, you saw Trey, today?" Dawn finally asked, once it was apparent that AJ's focus was going to remain on the game.

"Yeah." Ryan noticed how AJ twitched at the mere mention of his brother's name.

"How is he?"

"Trey?" Ryan shrugged indifferently. "He's Trey. He had a party last night. He was pretty hung-over. I dunno. I didn't stay long."

"Is he still living in that apartment with that Pablo guy? The one over by the senior center?"

"Paulo--and, yeah."

"And he's doing all right? He looked okay?"

"He's fine, Mom." When she looked at him skeptically, Ryan continued, "He's got an eyebrow ring now."

"A what?"

"An eyebrow ring. A hoop through one of his eyebrows--his left one, I think."

"Now, why would he go and do that?"

"I dunno." Ryan shrugged again. "You know Trey--he probably just let someone do it with an ice cube and a safety pin."

"Crazy motherfucker," AJ muttered.

"Do you know what he's doing today? How he's spending Christmas?"

"Not really." Ryan shrugged again, now painfully aware that AJ's focus had completely shifted from the game. "Honestly, Mom, we didn't really talk that much."

"Well, he'd better not come around here," AJ muttered. "I'll wring his scrawny little motherfucking neck."

"Oh, c'mon, AJ, give him a break. He hasn't been around in months."

"Bullshit. I've seen him around here a bunch of times in the last few weeks. Motherfucker's lucky I didn't come after his ass with a fucking crowbar."

AJ was staring at Ryan, who found that he couldn't quite keep his eyes from jumping around in a manner that he knew was a dead giveaway. He tried to focus on the plate in front of him--stabbed a piece of turkey with his fork that he knew he'd never get the chance to eat.

"He wouldn't do that, AJ. He knows better."

"Maybe we oughtta ask _Ryan_ about that?"

"Trey hasn't been around, has he, Ryan?"

Ryan shrugged and tried his best to appear casual. "He came by to borrow your car, once. I told him it wasn't working. He left."

He froze as he saw AJ begin to rise. Suddenly, he was finding it increasingly difficult to swallow--to breathe.

"AJ, don't." Dawn pleaded. "C'mon now. You can't get mad at Ryan for something his brother did."

"This has nothing to do with Trey." AJ's voice was quiet and surprisingly in control. Which, for some reason, only elevated the level of Ryan's anxiety.

As AJ made his way to his side of the table, Ryan continued to stare at his fork--refused to look up--bargained with God.

"Stand up, hotshot. You're done eating."

As Ryan pushed back from the table and slowly rose to his feet, he realized that he needed to move away from where he was standing. If AJ was going to hit him, he didn't want to go crashing into the table and create a mess that his mother would have to clean up later. He took a couple of steps backwards, toward the living room and the kitchen.

"What'd I tell you--like not even more than a few fucking hours ago?" AJ asked, matching him, step for step.

Ryan felt trapped. He wasn't sure what to do. If he gave AJ the answer he was looking for, he would be admitting that he lied about Trey. If he didn't, AJ was going to kick his ass. Ryan ran through his meager list of choices and made the conscious decision to stay quiet. Fuck it. AJ was going to kick his ass either way. His eyes were still lowered, but he was looking at the older man's hands--he noted how they were both already balled into angry fists.

One problem with AJ was that he was pretty indiscriminate in choosing which fist he used to throw a punch, so Ryan could never predict from which side the blow would come. His fucking luck. Not only had his mother let a fucking brute of an asshole move into their house and take it over. She'd picked an ambidextrous one at that.

AJ punched him with his right fist right when Ryan was mid-shrug. It stung, but it didn't knock him down.

"I know you can talk, man. You use that fucking pie-hole to mouth off to me all the fucking time."

"You said not to lie." Ryan spoke through gritted teeth.

"Close--but, not quite, hotshot. I think I said that if you lied to me again, you'd see what fucking happens. We're at that part now where you're about to see what fucking happens."

Ryan's stomach tightened. He was surprised that his mother had remained silent and he wondered if she was continuing on with her nice dinner, pretending that none of this was happening. He had a strange, but brief vision of her as Miss Haversham, sitting in her rotten wedding dress, pretending that her well-planned evening was coming off without a hitch. He was unaware that the sides of his mouth twitched upwards until AJ punched him again, leaving him sprawled on the ground.

"Maybe you'd like to tell me what's so fucking funny, man?" AJ asked, standing over Ryan's prone form. Ryan was pretty sure he wasn't smiling anymore. Christ, his cheek hurt. He briefly wondered if AJ had broken it and how AJ could hit him like that and not feel it in his own hand. He hoped that it was the booze and that the son of a bitch would wake up in the morning with a broken knuckle or two.

"Get the fuck up." As Ryan slowly stood, he considered rushing AJ--if he could catch him off guard--push by him--he just might be able to make it to his room. The house was small. It was only a matter of a few feet. But, AJ must have seen something in the quick glance Ryan stole toward the living room, because he hit him again, from the same side, and with enough force to knock him down once more.

"I'll tell you what--the first thing that fucking happens is that deadbolt comes off your door."

"Mom?" Ryan scrambled to his feet, looking to his mother for help. She was staring down at the table, but met his eye when she heard his plea.

"AJ, is that really necessary?"

"Yes, it's fucking necessary. I think Trey's been in the fucking house and I think Ryan's been letting him in."

Ryan broke his gaze with his mother, looked AJ straight in the eye and told the truth. "I've never let Trey inside the house."

"Yeah, well, the deadbolt comes off tonight anyway."

"Mom?" Ryan tried again. "He can't do this. It's not his house. Don't let him do this, Mom--_please_, don't let him do this." Dawn just shrugged, helplessly, in response. She lit another cigarette, her trembling hands struggling with the match.

AJ abruptly turned and walked toward Ryan's room. Against his better judgment, Ryan followed, close on his heels.

"C'mon, AJ, please?" He hated to sound like he was begging, but he needed to keep that lock on the door. It was the one thing that he could count on in this house--the one thing that he could consistently rely upon to protect his possessions from AJ's coked-up friends--the one thing that made his room feel safe. AJ ignored him, opened the door and stared at the lock, straddling the doorway.

"Go get me a Phillips-head from the locker in my truck. The keys are on the dresser in your mom's room."

Knowing that there was no way he was going to win the argument, Ryan slowly turned and did as he was told. As he walked back up the hallway with the keys, AJ called out to him.

"Hey, man." Ryan looked up, warily. AJ was holding Trey's jacket by the hood. He tossed it to him. "I wouldn't want you to get cold out there."

Ryan shrugged on the jacket and made his way back to the living room. He shot his mother a glare, but she wouldn't look back at him. She was still sitting at the table, staring deeply into the little bit of amber liquid left in the rock glass she was slowly twirling, a wisp of smoke curling up from the cigarette she held loosely in the same hand. When he got outside, Ryan briefly flirted with the idea of taking off on his bike--or even AJ's truck. He had the keys, and there was always possibility--however slim--that things would be better in the morning.

He rejected the idea almost as quickly as it came to him. He was pretty sure that if he took off now, the next time he saw AJ, there was a very real likelihood that the older man might kill him.

Ryan jumped into the bed of AJ's pickup and made his way through all the crap in the back to the locked toolbox. It took him a couple of tries to find the right key. When he lifted the lid, he grabbed a flashlight and flipped it on, scanning the tools for the one he needed. Just as his hand was closing in around the screwdriver, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Hey, little bro', what the fuck're you doing out here?"

"Shit, Trey, you can't _be_ here." He whispered furiously. Trey was standing on the front walk, inside the gate. He was still holding the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand--Ryan quickly noted that it was nearly empty.

"Fuck that. This is my fucking house, too." Trey's speech was slurred much worse than their mother's--or AJ's.

"Dude, seriously. This is not a good time. You've got to get out of here." Ryan jumped from the truck and hurried to cut off his brother's path to the house. "AJ is major league, fucked-up crazy right now."

"Fuck AJ," Trey's raised his voice in the direction of the house. It was obvious that he didn't care if he was heard.

"That's fine, Trey, just not tonight," Ryan pleaded. "Please, just get the fuck out of here before he kills us both."

"Why--what'd he do to you?"

"Nothing. He's just all revved up. C'mon, man. I need you to go home--I just need you to go home, _now_."

Trey lunged suddenly and grabbed the flashlight from Ryan's hand with surprising agility for someone so drunk. He shone the light on Ryan's face, and lifted his hand to his little brother's left cheek--stopping short when he saw how he winced and drew back.

"He punch you?"

Ryan shrugged.

"That prick punched you?"

"It's no big deal," Ryan lied, keeping his tone low. "It's all over with in there. AJ'll pass out in another few minutes. I'm good. But, you've gotta help me out here, man. If he sees you, he's gonna go fucking ape-shit."

"That prick fucking punched you?" Trey wasn't listening to Ryan, anymore. He turned to the house and raised his voice loud enough to be heard down the block. "You know what? Fuck you, AJ!"

Trey hurled the bottle and nodded with satisfaction when it thumped loudly against the side of the house, bounced off the armchair that rested under the roof's overhang and then busted into a million pieces on the cement walkway.

It took less than fifteen seconds for the door to open and AJ to come out.

"That's right--fuck you, AJ," Trey repeated, more quietly this time, swaying slightly and pointing the flashlight at the older man.

Dawn appeared in the doorway behind AJ. She put a restraining hand on his arm as she called out, "AJ, don't. Trey, get on out of here."

AJ jerked his arm away from Dawn and took a couple of steps toward the boys.

"You really think you can take me, you skinny little punk?" Ryan noted that AJ looked amused, more than anything.

"I don't know, you fucking hobbit-on-steroids--I guess there's only one way to find out." Trey continued to play the flashlight's beam over AJ, stopping when he reached his eyes. AJ raised his hand to block the glare.

"Jesus, AJ--Trey, stop it! Trey, go home. Just go home--please, just go home, now!"

"I'm not a fucking dog, Mom--I ain't going home--I ain't sitting--and I ain't rolling over, either."

Ryan suddenly realized that he was between AJ and Trey, and that he was still holding onto the screwdriver. He briefly wondered if he could use it as a weapon if he needed to--decided that he could.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" AJ took another step toward Trey.

"You heard me, Bilbo Fucking Badass."

When AJ took another step toward them, Ryan lifted the screwdriver and pointed it at him. AJ laughed.

"What're you gonna do with that, hotshot?"

"I'm gonna fucking stick you." Ryan's threat didn't come out sounding nearly as menacing as he had intended.

"Yeah, well I'm fucking shaking in my boots, man--except--not. Now, get out of the fucking way and this can stay between your brother and me. One more fucking word outta you and we're not done. I will fuck you up. You hear me, man? I will--fuck--you--up."

"Is that how you get your rocks off--you stupid midget fuck--beating up on a 15-year-old kid?"

"No, man--I get my rocks off kicking the shit out of his douchebag, fucked-up big brother."

As AJ took another step toward Trey, Ryan was suddenly aware of the sound of sirens, somewhere nearby. Everybody froze and looked to the street--watched as a cruiser stopped in front of the Atwood home. A neighbor must have called the police.

An officer got out of the car with his weapon drawn. He pointed it straight at Ryan, fully stopping his heart for a couple of seconds before sending it beating wildly out of control.

"Put down the weapon, son."

Ryan quickly dropped the screwdriver. Although he was sure that it made a noise when it landed on the walkway at his feet, he could hear nothing over the beating of his own heart. He turned both hands towards the cop, showing him that he held nothing else, that he wasn't a threat. The officer kept his gun drawn and pointed at Ryan, but reached in his car with his other hand and said something into his handset.

"Okay, everybody, show me your hands. Keep them in front of you. All right, you--in the gray sweatshirt--toss the flashlight away--to your right--and walk backwards towards me. Go slowly. Show me your hands--keep your hands out. Do you hear me, man? Keep your hands where I can fucking see them." Ryan watched as Trey tossed the flashlight away and backed through the chain-link gate. He noted how his brother offered his wrists to the officer and they were cuffed behind his back. The officer roughly sat him on the sidewalk.

"Now you, Mr. Screwdriver--same thing. I need you to go really slowly there, sport. Come toward me--walk backwards--keep your hands out where I can see them."

Ryan did as the officer asked, walking backwards and stealing a glance towards his mother--who was still standing in the doorway, swaying slightly. He mimicked how his brother had offered his wrists to the officer, and a few seconds later, he feltthe cold metal of the handcuffs tightly securing his wrists behind his back. The officer sat him on the curb a few feet away from Trey, with a sharp order to both of them not to converse. They had been sitting for less than a minute when the officer's backup came, lights flashing and sirens sounding loudly. He noted that the neighbors' curtains across the way were drawn back. He could see Mrs. Mulrooney's round face, as it was alternately backlit in blue and red. He thought that maybe she had been the one who had called the cops--bizarrely wondered if Hallmark made a "Thank You" card for the occasion.

After AJ was similarly cuffed and situated, one of the officers went into the house to talk with Dawn. It seemed like an eternity before he came back.

"The guy in the cut-off sleeves--cut him loose--and the little kid." He pointed at Ryan with his right boot.

"What about the other one?"

"He's her kid, too, but she says she wants to press charges. She says he doesn't live here. He showed up drunk--started getting into it with his stepdad--she just wants us to get him the hell out of here."

"What'd you tell her?"

Ryan was lifted gruffly to his feet and his handcuffs removed. He absently rubbed at his wrists where they'd left an indentation.

"I told her that I'm not dealing with this tonight. We'll bring him in--throw him in the drunk tank and let him sober up--if she still feels the same way tomorrow, she can go down to the DA's office and press charges."

"He over eighteen?"

"Yeah."

"What about Mr. Screwdriver?"

"He's just a kid. The little brother--he got caught in the middle. She says everything'll be calmed down once the other kid's out of here."

Ryan kept his head ducked low, hoping that it was too dark for anyone to notice the bruise that was beginning to blossom on his cheek. He watched as they patted Trey down, led him to a cruiser and put him in the backseat. He couldn't help but notice that it was just like an episode of "Cops," the way they kept a protective hand on top of his brother's head, making sure that he didn't bang it as he took a seat in the back of the vehicle.

"Hey, can I talk to my brother for a sec?" Trey called out, just as they were about to shut the door. The officer debated for a second, then shrugged and stepped aside.

"Sure, kid, but make it quick."

Ryan walked over to the cruiser. "Hey--you know Mom won't press charges--she won't want to deal with this in the morning--and---and I won't let her. I swear, man, they'll cut you loose." Ryan's words were tripping over each other.

"No--hey--it's not that, man. I just wanted to make sure you've looked in the pocket."

"What pocket?"

"The coat pocket, you 'tard."

"No--why?"

"Make like a Nike ad, dumbass--just do it."

Ryan reached his right hand in the jacket's pocket and his hand felt the familiar shape of a key. He pulled it out.

"What is it?"

"It's the key to Mom's car, Ryan. I finally got it going again."

"No shit? I thought you said there was no way you'd get it running before Christmas."

"Yeah, I know. It took till yesterday, but I got the fucker started. I got it started a bunch of times. Tell her--just tell her she should be good to go."

"Hey, kids. I hate to break this up, but we gotta get rolling." The officer started to shut the door.

"Yeah, okay. Can I just--can I give him his jacket back?" Ryan asked.

"No--hey--it's yours." Trey said before the officer had a chance to respond. "I got another coat, remember?"

"Yeah--okay--sure. Thanks. Take care of yourself, Trey." Ryan lightly tapped the roof of the cruiser a couple of times with his knuckles.

"You, too, man."

As Ryan backed away from the car, Trey called out, just loud enough for him to hear. "Hey, Ryan? This choice--you know--the one where I came over here tonight? This is one choice I made all by my motherfucking lonesome. So--I guess--uh--I dunno, little brother--I guess I gotta work on that one some more, huh?"

Ryan couldn't help but grin--just a little--as he gave Trey a small wave and turned back toward the house.

As he started up the walkway, he heard one of the officers say, "Mr. Screwdriver had a key in his pocket?"

"All of them were cuffed, Charlie, I hadn't patted any of them down, yet. We'd have found it if we were taking him to juvie."

Dawn and AJ were standing in the doorway, the picture of domesticity, their arms locked around each other as the car transporting Trey slowly pulled from the curb and began to drive away.

"Hey, don't forget to pick up the screwdriver there, hotshot. We've still got that lock to take care of," AJ reminded him.

Ryan barely broke stride as he bent down and picked up his erstwhile weapon.

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Later that night, Ryan lay in bed, sporting a new split lip and an eye that had already swollen shut. There was now a hole in his door, where the deadbolt used to sit.

He'd just shrugged and filled the empty space with a sock when his mother promised him a new door--one with a traditional lock on the knob--one that would be useless to keep thugs like AJ and his friends at bay.

Dawn had come back into Ryan's room later that night--after she thought he'd fallen asleep. She sat on the edge of his bed for several minutes, quietly crying, running her hand through his hair and making whispered promises that they both knew she'd never keep.

Finally, she leaned over and gave him a kiss--and then pressed her cheek lightly to his. He could feel that it was wet.

"I'm sorry." She murmured. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I swear, Ryan--I swear to you that next Christmas will be better."

He felt the bed dip and rise as his mother stood, and reminded himself to give her the key early tomorrow--before she decided what to do about Trey. As she walked from the room, he turned from her and pulled the blanket close in on himself. Then, he closed his eyes and just willed the whole world to go away.

It was just a day--a day like any other day--in Chino.

The End

**Additional Author's Note**: Sorry if I pushed this too far, but I just felt the need to include all the ingredients that make up the "traditional Atwood Christmas" and **Chapter One** was missing the drinking, the crying, the cops, and the ass-kicking.


End file.
